


and it's yours and it's mine like the sun

by 3amscribbles



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M, because we probably won't get it, pre-proposal sappiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8288665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amscribbles/pseuds/3amscribbles
Summary: “Did you just –?”
“Ask if I could kiss you?” Robert fills in. Repeats. Confirms, “Yeah.”





	

Aaron’s brow is furrowed, set in deep lines of stretching confusion where he’s leant back against the counter. His tongue darts out to chase leftover milk along his bottom lip, and he’s altogether the most comforting sight Robert’s ever been allowed to devour.

The doubtful look that Aaron’s shooting him is the only thing wrong with the picture – the only thing cutting sharply through the unfamiliar silence in this place that Robert has moved into. This place that is home because Aaron is in it.

“Did you just –?”

Robert nods; hasty and stumbling even though he’s silent and sat in his spot. He watches how Aaron lowers his bowl; registers the clink of the spoon against the side of it, but can’t take his eyes off the familiar lines on Aaron’s face – the beauty that they make up even when they’re twisted into scepticism like this. Robert’s used to that expression, he knows how to deal with it these days, because Aaron’s allowed him those insights, those subtle workings.

“Ask if I could kiss you?” Robert fills in. Repeats. Confirms, “Yeah.”

Aaron’s frown deepens; clouds of sarcasm rolling in in those eyes. “Since when do you _ask?_ ”

Robert doesn’t have an answer, just swallows around silence and emotion and rubs a thumb against the denim of his jeans. It catches against the line of his pocket – gives a smaller sort of friction to focus on while he leaves the bigger struggle in Aaron’s hands, for him to figure out.

The sunlight’s here, sneaking in from the window behind Aaron and claiming him as its own; highlighting everything that Aaron is with a delicate approach. Robert could never do that. He was always in a rush to peel Aaron bare in the past, steered by the desire and greed that comes with having and eating that proverbial cake. He hasn’t been allowed to try later on, either, to let his touch roam the expanses of Aaron’s body and see whether his imprints will complement what they fit against. Everything’s still so purposeful between them – breathless and overwhelming in the best way. That way that doesn’t leave room for consideration.

Robert’s considered it now, though. Has sipped coffee in eerie silence since everyone else filtered out the door, and let his eyes appreciate Aaron in his crumpled, drowsy glory over by that counter. He’s matched that vision to the muscle memories he’s got – the resounding images of all the parts of Aaron that his own hands have been in possession of, and his fingers have curled uneasily around his cup the entire time. Have felt bereft and curious, longing for impressions to keep safe until someone demands his prints on paper to prove how pathetically in love he is.

Aaron must take pity on him. He rolls his eyes and sets the bowl aside as he says, “Well, go on, then. Give it a go.”

The chair scrapes against the floor when Robert moves, and leaves an echoing burn of anticipation in his throat when he swallows. He hasn’t brushed his teeth, yet, and there’s lingering bitterness on his tongue, and he doesn’t like milk in his coffee, but the playful look in Aaron’s eye tells him that he won’t mind the mixture so much when it’s blended by their lips.

He steps in close, into that gravitational pull of Aaron’s body that feels just as electric now as it did in the very beginning, when it was charged by Aaron’s sarcastic comments and the entirely transparent defences he put up when Robert came back to the village. Steps in close and forward, pressing thighs and hips and stomach into all of Aaron – and subsequently Aaron into that supportive countertop while Aaron curls fingers into Robert’s jacket.

They’re proprietary, those fingers. Curl with a certainty these days that is mirrored in Aaron’s eyes, all muted excitement framed by challenging flicks of eyelashes as he tilts his chin up and waits, beautiful and golden in the sunlight.

Robert breathes out a faint snort of nervous amusement and follows his breath and heart to Aaron’s mouth, searing their lips together in that prefect fit, that home inside their home.

Aaron’s eyelashes are yielding, sinking slowly to close his eyes while the rest of him ebbs out against the beach of Robert’s chest. As Robert deprives his own eyes of the sight he can feel the weight of Aaron’s body against his own, the solid mass of flesh and bone and wonder that his boyfriend his made up of leant trustfully into his own embrace while Aaron readily opens his mouth under Robert’s tongue.

It _is_ bitter from the coffee. A bitter taste between two lovers whose relationship once was entirely bittersweet, and that thought alone, however fuzzy it gets when Aaron’s biting at his lower lip, is enough to make Robert’s fingers tremble at Aaron’s side and lower back. Not bereft, now, but shivering with the task of holding an entire world close as Robert kisses it.

Aaron breathes out amusement across Robert’s upper lip when he eases back – drags the tip of his nose against Robert’s cheek but fails to hide the soft tilt of his grin from Robert’s searching gaze when there’s a bit of air between them. The fingers are still trembling away happily in warm clothes over enticing curves, and it feels a lot like the earth moving beneath them when Aaron shakes with silent laughter.

“Guess you could,” he says, voice as soft as his smile, soft like the skin and flesh of Robert’s body that always felt so rough before. An armour, as though he ever had something to protect before Aaron crept in and made himself home there.

He blinks, now. Tries to take his focus away from sweeping eyelashes and gentle mocking in breathtaking eyes to aim it at Aaron’s mouth, instead. At the words that came out of it in the wake of his own lips.

“I – what?”

Aaron snorts. Is beautiful. Is everything, as proved by that line of friction in Robert’s pocket that is aligned with another line of want in too-tight trousers. Arousal that speaks heavily of another kind of want, related and urgent and desperate to have Aaron close, just like the box in his pocket. To keep him. Forever.

“That good, huh?” Aaron hums. Does so to himself, it seems, if the faint blush on his cheeks and the reappearance of that soft smile is anything to go by. Bashful, as though the thought of himself stealing the ability to speak from someone else is laughable. As though he doesn’t do this on a daily basis. “Not gotten tired of me yet, then?”

That _is_ laughable. Is so for Robert, at least, who’s got a ring in his pocket and hearts so ready to burst in his eyes that he can _feel_ them, beating away, full of the sight before him. He presses his fingers more firmly into fabric and flesh, his eyes closed to keep the images to himself, and then his lips back to Aaron’s, just to stop the question from falling off of them too soon.


End file.
